


The Voyager Flotilla

by JoelleEmmily



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoelleEmmily/pseuds/JoelleEmmily
Summary: For a long, lonely decade, Voyager’s destination had been earth... home... But while encroaching upon that milestone, her destination shifted, albeit temporarily, to a fellow Starfleet vessel... to a little familiarity and companionship. Twice more her travels were interrupted, twice more her numbers grew. Today however, ships and crews not only celebrated new members joining their ranks, but their leader, Admiral Kathryn Janeway, welcomed an old friend to her side.Captain Mary O'Connell, Janeway’s frequent, but friendly, rival, left Federation space without orders the moment she learned Kathryn was still alive, hellbent on retrieving her childhood schoolmate from the depths of a distant quadrant. She had motivations of her own for leaving, but more importantly, Kate needed her, she needed someone to be a thorn in that backside of hers so she wouldn’t go ruining her life.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Captain of the Nova, decides to make an entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song Janeway sings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDsoN48HI54

Voyager’s mass hall was darkened, her tables removed, their chairs rearranged in rows, and her large windows peering out into the journey ahead, veiled by black satin. In the centre of the sea of fabric, a spotlight appeared, music began, the cloth parted; then Admiral Kathryn Janeway, dressed in a pure white tuxedo and top hat, and holding a thin black walking stick, stepped out into centre stage. She took a deep, noticeable breath, and began to sing, her vibrant smokey voice, entwining with the slow, rolling ragtime.

“Forty-eight years of living, an angel, in disguise... Forty-eight years of loving, smiling with my eyes.

Forty-eight years of memories, neatly tucked away... When daylight dies, I hear them rise, and dance upon their grave...

What's that sound, coming from the dresser, on a night as black as pitch?

What’s that sound, comin’ from the bureau, do I dare turn on the switch?

Bones, them bones, them dry bones, all bleached in deathly white... I've got skeletons in my closet, and they're rattlin’ tonight...”

The tempo picked up as trumpets triumphed over the beat; Voyager’s Captain, in response, lifted her cane above her head, and swaggered leisurely in a tight circle.

“Wow,” Lieutenant Paris’ commented as he leaned into Chakotay’s personal space, “who knew the Admiral could sing so well?”

“If *some* individuals analyzed Captain Janeway’s typical speaking timber and cadence,” Seven replied before the Commander could, “they would have come to the conclusion that her prior attempts at vocal artistry, failed do to incorrect range selections.” She turned her gaze on the Helmsmen. “If these individuals were observant, they would not request the Captain... sing... beyond her physical capabilities.” She paused as her eyes returned to the stage. “Nor would they ‘make fun’ of tonal breaks during those attempts.”

“I guess she told you.” Chakotay smirked as Tom slouched in his seat.

“She’s right flyboy,” B'Elanna added. “You tease a norgh, the norgh’s gonna mash you up.”

The three officers return to enjoying the show, Seven’s attention having done so the moment she finished delivering her peace, but the little girl seated to her right, holding the adult’s fully human hand in her small partially enhanced one, tugged her away from the display.

“Mommy? Why did Lanna refer to Admiral Janeway as an aquatic predator?”

The Borg bowed slightly, bringing herself closer to her adoptive daughter’s eye level, and answered the girl in a much softer voice than she usually addressed other’s. “It was meant as an endearment Helen. Lieutenant Torres was alluding to her correct belief, that if one were to attempt to make a fool of the Captain, she would cause you to make one of yourself.”

Delighted with the explanation, the smallest sub-unit of the Hanson family returned her focus to the stage, and to the leader of the ship’s collective, once again proving she could master any talent.

It was barely a moment before one of their combadges beeped. “Bridge to Commander Chakotay. Sorry to interrupt sir, but we’re picking up a ghost on forward sensors.”

“On my way.”

Seven’s head snapped to the tattooed man. “You will not inform the Captain?”

He turned a serous, condemning look on her. “I don’t think this is important enough to disturb the Admiral’s performance. Do you?”

“It is not for you, nor I, to make that assessment. Captain Janeway would wish to be informed of any malfunction or disturbance, regardless of its severity.”

Chakotay loomed closer to the Borg. “Kathryn’s enjoying herself Seven, do you really want her to ruin that for herself?”

A confused quirk pulled at the ex-drone’s enhanced brow. “Yes.”

There was absolutely no point arguing with Seven of Nine when she was like this, and Chakotay didn’t even try, she would’ve only caused a bigger scene than she was about to, and would’ve completely disregard him in any event. It didn’t matter that the Captain’s song would finish in a few tens of seconds, or that the minor glitch didn’t need the flotilla’s commanding officer’s attention. After eight years, he’d resigned himself to her antics... and to the Captain’s allowing of them.

The Borg walked crisply and purposefully to the side of the stage, ignoring the stares she was receiving from the crew. Janeway, upon noticing the woman, didn’t stop performing, but did move to the side of the dais.

“The bridge has reported a possible sensor anomaly, Captain.”

Kathryn smiled, not really minding that the painfully precise Seven of Nine, called her by her old rank for what seemed like the millionth time. “Computer, pause recording.” She lifted her hands to quell the tide of murmuring. “Now, now people. The mission, much like the show, must go on. Mr Chell, the next act if you please.” Then made her way to the exit, Chakotay falling in step just behind. Seven she noted, delayed in following the pair by a few moments, her march rushed to catch up.

They stepped into the turbolift as Janeway began undoing her bow-tie and cummerbund. “Any information?”

“Not at this time. However, I do not believe this ‘ghost’ is a fault caused by the sensor array.”

“How do you figure?”

Seven’s brow once again lifted. “I calibrated the forward sensors one hundred and fifteen hours ago, they are functioning correctly.”

Janeway hummed in acknowledgement. “The children staying for the rest of the show?”

“Yes, I informed them of the necessity of my departure. I apologize for my inability to join you promptly.”

“Don’t worry about it Seven, just try to minimize your tardiness in the future.”

The lift opened onto the bridge, allowing Kathryn to step out, and to hide the fully blossoming grin tugging on one side of her mouth. As usual, the Young Women was taking her teasing far too seriously.

“Report,” she demanded as she descended into the command well.

“It’s not a glitch,” Ayala replied. “It’s course and speed are fluctuating, but not in relation to anything we’re doing.”

“I believe it is a nadion reflection from warp plasma exhaust,” Seven offered from the mission specialist station behind the Captain.

Janeway and Chakotay looked to the ex-borg in unison, but it was the Commander who spoke. “A cloaked ship?”

“I do not believe so. Sensors are not identifying the anomaly as a nadion surge, suggesting the photonic energy from the area is being augmented by a large persistent source of electromagnetic radiation. I hypothesize that while this vessel is restricting its particle emissions, it is not actively attempting to mask its physical presence in space-time.”

“You think the nadion particles are coming from them pushing their warp drive beyond its limits,” Kathryn questioned.

“A simplistic interpretation, but not inaccurate.”

Janeway’s smirk reformed. “Estimate on ETA?”

“Seventy-one hours, forty-six minutes.”

The Admiral drifted closer to the ensign manning the helm. “Alter course, zero-five-zero mark zero, and increase to maximum velocity.”

“You think they’re heading for us,” Chakotay hazarded when Janeway returned to his side.

“I have a hunch.” Several silent moments ticked by, Kathryn’s eyes glued to an empty star field littered with streaks of light. “Any change?”

“Negative,” Seven reported. “The object’s course and speed are unaltered. However, its signal strength is fading.”

“Gotcha.” Janeway’s lopsided glee morphed into smug. “Match bearings and fire a tachyon pulse.”

The bridge crew jumped into action. “Aye, aye Admiral.”

“Something I should know?” Chakotay didn’t bother trying to hide the interest marring his tattoo.

Kathryn patted his arm. “Just a very old game of tag.”

“Incoming transmission, ma’am.”

Signalling the crewman to standby, Janeway took her time repositioning herself in the middle of her bridge, fluffed back her hair, put her hands on her hips, and struck her best ‘mighty’ pose. “On screen.”

A tall woman with ash blonde hair, a thin athletic physique, and steel blue eyes, appeared on the forward viewer. But unlike her Voyager counterpart, this Starfleet captain stood bold, defiant, her arms crossed and her head held with superiority. “Still raining, Kathryn?”

Janeway’s mischievous delight died from her features. “Not in the slightest.” Her pose shifted into the aggressive, her passive hands twisted into fists, her back stiffened, her glare sharpened. “It’s very good of you to join us so much sooner than expected Captain O'Connell... I hope the trip hasn’t put too much strain on your better half.”

Mary O'Connell’s head bowed slightly, forcing her gaze to meet Kathryn’s edge with a slightly evil, lashy glower. “Speaking of, Hobbes’ remarried.”

Janeway’s bladed blue/grey duranium stare, froze into jagged ice. “Good for him, I wish Mark only the best.”

“Of course. You didn’t happen to pack your racket, did you?”

“I have a new one, engineered with the collective know how of ten-thousand species, and machined to a tolerance of a plank meter.”

Dropping her arms to her side, O'Connell stance softened. “You always knew how to go overboard Kate.” She peered out of frame for a moment. “Four days from now, twenty-one hundred?”

Janeway match the other woman’s relaxed appearance. “My holodeck or yours?”

“Yours.” Mary gave a dull look.

“Of course, how silly of me to forget.” She turned to the crewman holding ops. “Hail the rest of the fleet, conference mode.”

The holographic monitor split into four, the three new sections filling with the images of Captain Johnathan Dartt of the Wanderer, Captain Spelor of the T'Pan, and Captain Julia Givens of the Saber, each sitting or standing on their own respective bridges, showing off their own brand of pomp and ego. Kathryn, for her part, took an air of authority as she addressed /her armada/.

“Captain O'Connell, on behalf of the fleet, we welcome you, your crew, and the Nova, to the Voyager flotilla.”

Mary beamed, her expression distantly resembling those often expressed by her friend, and long ago, neighbour. “It’s good to be welcomed, and we’ll see you in about three days.” Her celebratory mood shadowed. “But I’m afraid I have to report that Nova’s running on fumes and six-hundred percent compression. We need a long pull from a deep glass, Admiral.”

“Understood.” Open fondness filled Kathryn’s face. “We’ll find her a gas giant to belly up to. In the meantime, the fleet will come to station keeping as you approach, at which time, we’ll rotate crews through Voyager for a meet and greet.”

“Sounds good ma’am.”

“Voyager out.”

The images of her subordinate officers blinked out of existence, replace by the not so familiar star-field. Kathryn gazed out into the infinity for an instant, looking toward the distant, unseen friend warping her way to Voyager’s position; then past the invisibly small Nova, toward earth. Today, they were just that little bit closer to the Federation, joined by a few, precious compatriots. Today was one of the best days. She tugged down on her tux’s lapels, turned on her heel, and marched toward her ready room.

“Seven, if you don’t mind, tonight we’ll be playing tennis instead of velocity.”


	2. kal'i'fee... wafaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Nova approaches, gossip flows freely, but a storm much closer to home, has already brewed.

Around the chief engineers console to the left of Voyager's warp core, the usual suspects began to gather. Each eager, in their own way, to share information gathered regarding the mysterious USS Nova. 

Leaning over the console, Nicoletti handed Torres a data padd as preamble. "I heard they need a chief engineer."

B'Elanna eyed up at the other woman. "Oh yeah? And just how'd you hear that?"

"Ensign Beaumont has a friend on the Nova, and according to him, Lieutenant Grant isn't exactly cutting it. Grant's supposedly a great computer specialist, but Captain O'Connell's had to pull double duty all the way out here."

"The most logical candidate," Vorik interjected as he placed a report on the desk, "is Seven of Nine."

A single guffaw burst from Torres' mouth. "The Ice Queen could be half re-assimilated, irradiated, and flying the ship into a star, and the Admiral still wouldn't let her off the ship."

"I agree." Susanne crept deeper into their conspiratorial circle. "It would have to be T'Len. She has the most experience *and* the proper seniority. Plus, she's not a shift supervisor or anything."

Vorik's posture tightened. "I have it on authority, that Captain Spelor has requested that Lieutenant T'Len be transferred to his command on six separate occasions. And that Starfleet Command has made the same request at least three additional times. On each occasion, either the Lieutenant, or the Admiral, has declined."

Torres glanced at the vulcan woman minding her own business on the other side of the room. "Why would Spelor want her so badly?"

"Why does our resident grouch want anything," Nicoletti quipped.

"Captain Spelor believes that all vulcans within the flotilla, should be transferred to his ship," Vorik explained. "He is, as you human say, from a different era."

"You mean he's a speciesist grandfather."

"Not precisely, but also not completely inaccurate."

"The Admiral would never transfer Seven," B'Elanna reaffirmed, watching T'Len cross to injector control.

"It'd have to be you or Seven," Susanne asserted, "T'Len just doesn't have the kind of intuitive flare Admiral Janeway looks for in a Chief Engineer."

The question of who exactly this vulcan woman was, and just exactly what was her level of competence, reentered Torres' mind. Nine years, and B'Elanna still knew almost nothing about her. She never volunteered for duties, never did anything overtly spectacular, and barely made any impression at all with her skill sets... Except when the ship was in danger; then it seemed the other engineer was hiding a whole litany of talents. Could a vulcan be an underachiever?

"I highly doubt the Admiral would allow her Chief Engineer to depart," Vorik stated firmly.

Torres shook her head. "Janeway would never transfer Seven."

"You believe she would transfer you before doing so?"

The Klingon eyed her junior officer. "No."

A bang, shower of sparks, and an alarm sprang from the port side ODN control rack, causing the crew to race to their emergency stations. Torres, ran to the site of the explosion.

"Work the problem people," she called out at the top of her lungs.

Lieutenant T'Len lifted her head from examining the drive plasma controls, her face and eyes passive. "It appears several emitter relays in junction 13-A have failed."

"Damn it." B'Elanna hit her communicator. "Engineering to bridge. We've had a blow out down here and lost dynamic field control. We'll probably have to replace some relays on deck thirteen."

"Will this affect warp power," Janeway questioned.

"It shouldn't Admiral. We should be able to effect repairs while maintaining our current speed."

"Understood Lieutenant. Get it done."

"You heard her. Nicoletti, T'Len, into the jefferies tube, get this fixed before we have to pull some harsh manoeuvres."

"I have isolated the cause," T'Len preempted. "It appears the isolinic coupler in the same junction experienced a minor overload, and attempted to redirect excess power to secondary shunts."

Torres cringed slightly. "Those two systems are completely separate from one another. A burned out shunt shouldn't damage the relays."

"I would normally agree Lieutenant. However, the computer clearly indicates the two events occurred at virtually the same instant."

"Damn." B'Elanna rubbed at her cranial ridges. "The whole junction might be damaged. Fine," she threw up her hands, "Nicoletti, you and Vorik start pulling the entire parts list, T'Len, you and I will start dragging equipment down there. Hopefully, it's just a coincidence or some fluke."

"Hopefully," T'Len parroted.

Both women grabbed what they could carry, shoved it into the jefferies tube; then proceeded to make their way down the narrow passage.

"The Nova needs a chief engineer," Torres commented as she crawled.

"It is highly unlikely they will acquire one from Voyager."

"Oh?" The Klingon glanced back at the other woman.

"The Captain is unlikely to relinquish crew members, regardless of the needs of the Nova. Why do you believe she implemented the 'no poaching' policy."

"Why do *you* think she did?"

"With the exception of the T'Pan, Voyager's crew compliment is the largest in the flotilla, and contains the most seasoned personnel. The other captains would've been wise to offer select members promotions to replace their own less experienced officers. Voyager, would than be forced to take on the excess crew as she is the only ship with the facilities to house them." T'Len paused for a moment. "The Captain also exhibits an overabundance of sentimentality."

B'Elanna threw the vulcan a sour face before climbing down a ladder to the next level.

"Lieutenant, may I ask you an intimate question," T'Len hazarded as she passed the other engineer their equipment.

"Whatever."

"When Vorik telepathically caused you to experience pon farr, did you suffer any ill side effects?"

"Why?" Torres' eyes narrowed. "Are you planning on following his example?"

"That is not a logical assumption Lieutenant. I have been aboard Voyager for a decade, if I had not found a solution to such a circumstance, it would only be logical to assume that I would not be alive now."

"No, I didn't suffer any ill effects. Actually, I kind of liked kicking his ass."

"Then you believe your innate response to such instances, is extreme violence?"

"Yes, very extreme." Torres pushed their tools under the junction panel; then opened it. "Why the hell do you want to know anyway... Wait a minute." She peered closer at the components. "All these relays are pitted. Like they were hit with micro debris."

T'Len moved into B'Elanna's partial line of sight. "Lieutenant."

"What..." When the vulcan didn't continue, she gave the woman her direct attention.

"I asked, because I lied."

 

"Vorik," Susanne admonished from her side of the supply container. "You have the strength of two human males. Use it!"

"I assure you Lieutenant, I am attempting to pull with as much strength as I possess."

"You could've fooled me." When the Ensign abruptly stopped, Nicoletti looked up sharply, but found the man with a curious pallor of concern on his face. "What is it?"

"I may have heard something."

"Like what?"

"I'm uncertain. A pained gasp..."

"The Lieutenants." Panic filled Susanne's chest. She quickly crawled over the container and past the vulcan. Vorik followed closely behind.

At the field control junction, Torres was slumped against the wall, her head limply hung, small millimetre sized bruises peppering her face. T'Len looked equally the worse for wear, sitting akimbo, swooning in shock, hands held as if they ached.

"Lieutenant," Nicoletti prompted, "what happened."

T'Len searched the tiny corridor, her demeanour somewhat desperate; then examined Torres' unconscious body. "I do not know."

Susanne pushed the vulcan aside to examine the panel herself. "Vorik, all the relays are physically damaged. Start scanning for spatial anomalies." She turned to T'Len, but the woman's disorientation was deepening quickly. She grabbed her by the shoulders. "Did something hit the Chief."

"I do not know."

"Damn-"

"I do not know..." Tears began filling T'Len's eyes, her confusion intensifying...

"It's alright." Susanne clasped the woman's arm in support. "We'll figure this out. Nicoletti to bridge. We have a situation down here. Lieutenant Torres is unconscious, Lieutenant T'Len is barely responsive, and the control relays appear to have damage patterns similar to being struck by a micro-meteor."

"Are you detecting any anomalies," the Admiral responded.

Nicoletti looked to Vorik, who shook his head. "No ma'am."

"Commander Janeway?" B'Elanna began to stir.

"Say again?"

"Lieutenant Torres called you commander ma'am." Susanne turned her tricorder back to the klingon.

"I'm on my way."

"No." The vulcan woman flopped onto her side. "The section is depressurizing."

B'Elanna examined the junction in utter bewilderment. "Did I just sabotage these?"

"What the," Nicoletti exclaimed.

The sound of the transporter sent T'Len's agitation into panic. "Kathryn, go back. Captain Morissette, beam her back."

"Tau, we're not aboard the Bonestell, we're aboard Voyager." Janeway pulled Ensign Vorik out of the way to get to the other vulcan. "You're having a panic attack."

"Not logical."

"Do you remember having lunch with me yesterday?"

"Yes," T'Len nodded from between Janeway's hands.

"You told me, the Doctor told you, that you're medication was loosing effectiveness. You're suffering heightened emotional syndrome. Concentrate Tau."

"Yes Commander."

"Admiral, I'm Admiral Janeway, Tau, try to remember. Rebuild your emotional barriers, brick by brick around yourself."

T'Len shook her head. "I can't, I was wrong."

"Admiral?" Nicoletti drew Janeway's attention from the vulcan woman. "Lieutenant Torres said... she said she damaged the relays ma'am."

Shifting to B'Elanna, Kathryn saw the klingon was kneeling quietly, hands resting in her lap, her face and eyes passive. "How do you feel Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine Captain," she quickly shook herself, "Admiral. My face hurts slightly, and I'm a little dizzy, but I'm okay."

"Did T'Len touch you?"

"No ma'am."

"Did you do something to the junction?"

B'Elanna examined the equipment, her gaze analyzing every millimetre, but there was a touch of confusion from somewhere distant. "No ma'am. We'd just got down here. I think an inverted nadion pulse destabilized the molecular structure of the control relays' outer casings; then when the coupler overloaded, it released enough isolitic energy to fuse the energizers. Something... knocked me out before I could do anything else."

"Right Lieutenant." Janeway nodded slowly. "You're absolutely certain?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Do you know what generated the pulse?"

The distance reasserted itself. "No."

"Do you?" The Admiral turned on T'Len.

T'Len had calmed, her attention clearer, but confusion continued to cause her focus to swim. "I don't know."

"Admiral?" Vorik held out a tricorder for her inspection. "Neurological readings indicate that Lieutenant T'Len has suffered a sudden and severe emotional shock. At best, she should not be responsive, at worst, she should be in critical condition."

Janeway ignored the scanner. "The two of you are coming with me to sickbay."

"Admiral," Torres objected, "I should stay here and fix this."

"Nicoletti and Vorik will." She shifted from B'Elanna to T'Len then back, eyeing them carefully. After a long moment, she seemed to come to a decision, and tapped her comm badge. "Transporter room one, three to beam directly to sickbay."

As their superior officers vanished, the two engineers looked to one another. "What in the hell was that?"

Vorik's eyebrows raised. "Apparently, the Admiral and Lieutenant T'Len, have known one another for longer than we have assumed."

"I mean everything. There's no way Lieutenant Torres could've known a nadion pulse caused that damage, or that the minuscule amount of isolitic energy could even affect the relays."

"She would, if she had known the saboteur's actions..."


	3. kahs-wan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of T'Len's actions, begin to unfold.

Nevasa burned down on T'Len as if the headscarf she wore were not even there. It was midday, in the middle of the hottest season, and during the rare alignment of Nevasa's sisters. Their light, scorched all that it touched, blistering all living and dead things the same. The grey sand beneath her feet, barely protected and cradled by a pair of traditional tribal shoes, reflected the sinister rays up under her cloak.

"T'Len," her mother admonished, "think not such things. Our star, our land, our sands, are examples to us. They exist as separate objects, individuals, isolated, but affecting one another, as part of a system, unified, as we must be from, and with, each other. And like them, we must have no emotions regarding their effects."

"Yes mother."

The older woman stopped, squatting low to bring her eyes to her daughter's, her face framed by the endless sea of sand. "You must listen T'Len, not only hear. If you ascribe a ray of light, an emotion, that emotion will penetrate you as easily as its warmth. Then your blood will burn as your skin; then you will be compelled to release it." She gently caressed the girl's cheek with her index and middle finger. "And you will burn another, as easily and as surely, as Nevasa has burned you."

"I try mother."

"No my child, do not try, accept. This journey I and your sister take with you this day, must be walked by you alone on your kahs-wan. On that day, you will walk the paths of our ancestors, across the sands of their home, and you will survive, as they had. For now, you may seek relief in my shadow, because I am your mother, and I will not let the desert take you this day."

"I am here for you as well T'Len," T'Mir offered, her hair made wild and disobedient by the harsh winds.

Looking up at her older sister, T'Len could barely see her face, obscured by the blinding light. "But why must we be tested here? Mother, you have lived most of your days in space, and space is far more harsh than the desert. I too wish to live there mother, should it not be there were my resolve is formed?"

"Here T'Len," her mother began softly, her arm sweeping outward to frame the utterly empty desert, "is where we evolved. From here, our bodies were shaped. And from here, our hearts were bore. Space calls to you my daughter, as it had to me, and I have no doubt your future lay between the stars... but here, my T'Len, is your past, and here, is where you will learn who you are, before you can become who you wish to be."

"I will do as you ask mother." She turned to the horizon, her soul longing. "But I will not understand."

"You will my child."

 

The matter stream solidified around B'Elanna as the images faded. This wasn't the first time she'd experienced a vivid dream during transport, but it was the first time it had been someone else's.

"Sit," the Admiral barked before Torres could process what she'd experienced.

"Captain," T'Len replied just as forcefully.

"I don't want to hear it Tau," Janeway cut the vulcan off, her apparent anger radiating from her being.

For the briefest of moments, commander and engineer regarded each other, T'Len's cold stare locked onto Janeway's form, the Admiral's, glaring into the nothingness. It ended with Janeway marching toward the Doctor's office, leaving T'Len to struggle to stand, her grasp clawing at the biobed for support. Torres' watched the vulcan fail this simple task, but she felt locked in place as waves of contradiction cascaded through her mind. She wanted to help, but at the same time, a screaming desire to leave the woman alone echoed. The two needs warred with one another, dominating and submerging, expanding and contracting, until one fizzled out, leaving B'Elanna with the sensation of never having the discarded thought in the first place.

Torres stepped into T'Len's space, supporting the other woman's weight with a hand under her arm, and attempted to haul her up by a fist full of her uniform pants...

 

A million sharp stings stabbed at her scalp, her neck strained at twisting...

"Do not lie to me girl," a voice boomed, "I will not live for you to dishonour your family."

"Mother, I didn't, I went to the old refinery, I wanted to take apart the equipment there."

Miral's eyes blazed into B'Elanna's. "If I discover you are not telling the truth, the scar of your falsehood will live with you for the remainder of your life."

The older klingon woman released her daughter's hair, and marched out of their home, her boots pounding with every step. Slowly, B'Elanna's rage and fear thawed, unfreezing her from the spot, allowing her to move to her bedroom on the other side of the building. Father was never cruel like that, but she was too klingon, too short tempered to live with him, she was trapped with mother... the baktag.

"qaStaH nuq, B'Elanna."

Torres gave her cousin a dismissive glare through the open window, true surprise at the other girl's sudden appearance having died months before at the hands of similar antics. "nuqneH, L'eth."

She laughed. "Don't be ugly to me daughter of Miral, I've come to ask you to play."

"We are past the Age of Ascension, playing is for children."

Pulling herself in through the window, L'eth reached out for her cousin's arm. "Human garbage, everyone plays. We can throw sticks at the boys."

B'Elanna sidestepped the other girl's grasp. "I don't want to throw sticks at boys."

"Girls then."

"Be silent L'eth."

The young klingon flopped onto the floor, tumbled once; then hopped up to her full height. "Come sister. You stay in-doors becoming pale and weak like an old woman, or you ponder and tinker with your back hunched over like a scratching targ. Be free in the wild air, breathe deep the smell of the earth. Celebrate life!"

"I'd rather be alone." B'Elanna scrunched her face into her cousin's. "And miserable."

L'eth threw herself onto the bed, wailing as she flew. "Save me! My soul has been mortally wounded by the daughter of Miral! I will die without honour, wilting and rotting by her stinking, miserable corpse!"

"Done yet?"

"Sugared zilm'kach," the girl suggested, her arms thrusting in triumph.

B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Fine. A bowl of zilm'kach."

"And krada legs?"

"We're not having a meal L'eth."

"Why not," the young klingon asked as she propelled herself from the room, B'Elanna's wrist firmly clasped in her hand.

"And no girls or boys."

"Girls *and* boys?"

"Here's a crazy idea." B'Elanna ripped herself from the other girl's grasp before turning to lock the door. "Why don't we do something *I* want to do."

"qapla," L'eth threw her hands into the air, "her heart beats! I already talked to the old andorian antenna head. We can dismantle the anti-grav generators on his hover car."

Torres glared at her cousin. "You could've led with that."

 

Sickbay, and the warmth from T'Len's body, came into sharp focus once more. She wanted to ask the vulcan what the hell was going on, but she already knew, she could feel the answer, everything was there, just beyond the veil at the tip of her outstretched fingers.

With B'Elanna's help, T'Len climbed onto the biobed, rolling onto her back as soon as she could. "Why did you agree, you were supposed to try and kill me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Torres forced a tone of indignance.

"A lie only believed by yourself, is a conceited illusion." The Captain and the Doctor caught the vulcan's eye. "She knows, she's telling him everything."

"Telling him what?"

T'Len gave a few short, snorted huffs. "We're bonded." Her gaze drifted.

"How..."

"I asked with everything I am, and you answered."

Shaking her head, Torres insisted herself into the other woman's line of sight. "I don't remember you asking me anything."

"No one ever does. Do you remember Vorik asking? Do you remember throwing it back into his mind?"

"I do remember, and I remember telling him no."

"Then he touched you, tried to form the bond; then you struck him."

B'Elanna covered her face with her hands, miming tearing it off with her nails. "You're not explaining anything."

"What do you think he was attempting to do Lanna? Change your mind forcibly by melding with you? If vulcans could do that, don't you think there would be a lot more conspicuous marriages?"

"I felt the pon farr, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin."

"Pun farr is the cycle, plak tow is the fever. You're not vulcan, you can't progress the stages, you can only feel the effects by proxy. When he melded with you, he was attempting to show you his argument in more vivid detail. In an instant, he could've conveyed what would have likely taken hours verbally."

"But I felt the need."

T'Len's eyes drifted shut. "And what do you feel now?"

"Confused, frustrated-"

"No, that is what you believe you should feel. What do you truly feel Lanna."

Something welled from the depths of Torres' chest. "Fear, calm... I don't know..."

For a moment, T'Len appeared to fall asleep, but from her complete still, she asked, "why did you need to show me your mother pulling your hair?"

"What?"

"You didn't want me to experience what she was accusing you of, but you needed me to witness the abuse, and your cousin raising your spirits."

"It was a random thought, I didn't even know you would see it."

"You knew you were lying to the Captain."

B'Elanna glanced at the Doctor's office, Janeway was menacing herself over the holographic man. She turned back to T'Len. "It was a modified phaser set to low yield."

"How do you believe you know this? You know, because I know. You've seen me sabotaging the relays through my own eyes, and you saw me trigger the overload while I stood at the injector controls."

"Why?"

"And the Captain knew you were lying, because a hand phaser is the obvious suspect for sabotage using a nadion burst, and that it's improbable that you'd hypothesize nadion particles, prior to thermal damage from a phaser."

"Tell me why," Torres growled, but there was little passion in her vocalization.

"I'm too weak to convey the details. Sufficed to say, I hoped you would engage me as you did Vorik, and rid me of my need."

"I wanted to kill Vorik."

"And mate Paris. I remember. But you want neither with me."

"Why?"

"It's complicated Lanna... I have a genetic abnormality, and my guilt and shock at your acceptance, has abated the hunger. I never wanted to take from you, I just needed you to hurt me."

"But why me? And why did Vorik choose me?"

T'Len began chuckling, but quickly stopped as she clutched at her head in pain. "Because the Captain would have killed me if I had convinced Seven of Nine."

"That's not funny." A spark of genuine anger ignited in B'Elanna's centre, burned for a moment; then faded just as the discarded thought from earlier had.

"Because you're strong, intelligent, creative, you have some power as chief engineer, you learn quickly, you're rarely ill, and you're unashamedly passionate." T'Len forced her eyes open to look up at the klingon. "Why did you wish me to see your mother's abuse, as well as your cousin's compassion?"

"I don't know."

With an exhausted sigh, T'Len allowed her head and eyes to relax. "A lie veiled in the need for it to be true."

"I was in love with her," Torres whispered harshly, the embers of fury beginning to glow. "And my mother was accusing me of sleeping with her. Which I was not."

"I was betrothed to my third cousin as a child. I threw myself from a cliff to force our parents to end it. It seemed logical at the time."

"They didn't just call it off." B'Elanna felt the memories as if they were her own, tasted them, smelt them. "They institutionalized you. They called you arie'amp."

"Emotionally insane. I have an underdeveloped mesiofrontal cortex, and my pon farr is closer to our ancient ancestors than modern vulcans. In human parlances, I'm a neanderthal."

 

A dark flash came over Torres, and she found herself passively scowling at a much younger Kathryn Janeway. "In human parlances, I'm a neanderthal."

"Actually," the Redhead asserted, "neanderthals were never part of human ancestry. They're more our cousins. Perhaps you mean heidelbergensis?"

 

"I did." T'Len rolled onto her side, curling slightly in upon herself. "What is truly ironic, is that as much as you do not remember what memories and imaginings I used to convince you, I do not remember what you thought to convince me."

"But you-"

"We both must agree for the bond to be stable and lasting. My mind must accept you just as much as your mind must accept me, otherwise, we would both become violent."

"Shouldn't we both be feeling compelled to have sex?"

"Not necessarily. I'm in the first stages of pon farr, there's no pressing need... and any compulsion I'm feeling to mate, is being superseded by concern."

"Concern for what?"

"For what I have done, for what I've afflicted upon you... and for Paris, whom you have not thought of once, despite my own fixation on how this will affect him."


	4. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B'Elanna is swept away by her and T'Len's repressed resentments, while Captain O'Connell once again realizes that her idealized image of her friend, isn't what's reality.

"And for Paris... whom you have not thought of once..."

The father of her child... The single best friend who'd helped her through the shuttle wreck that was the delta quadrant... How could B'Elanna so callously discard him from her mind? When had she stopped being *in* love with him? She loved Tom, appreciated him, trusted him, even relied on him, but that gentle tug, the magnetism she used to feel, had long since disappeared. But when? After she beat the crap out of Vorik? After they'd repaired all the garbage the Srivani did to Voyager and crew? When she'd finished grieving for all her dead friends in the Maquis?

The sea of drifting silence floating about Torres' mind, told her that T'Len was unconscious. But even drowning as she was in the utter aloneness the lack of the vulcan's thoughts left her in, she could still sense images, phrases... and the cold... the ship felt so cold...

"Lieutenant."

B'Elanna jumped at the sound of the Admiral's voice. "Yes ma'am?"

"The Doctor and I have discussed it." Janeway folded her arms. "We'll place you, temporarily, on one of the other ships in the flotilla to give the two of you some physical distance. That should weaken your telepathic connection. As Tau finishes her pon farr cycle, the psychic bond will dissipate; then the two of you can resume your normal lives."

Normal? How could this baktag preach about normalcy? Cowering in the shadows with the lust she felt for a half dead, half machine woman... Swaying wildly from hero to unhinged... Slapping away the hand of friendship from all who offered...

"Why do you call her that?" Vile began trickling into B'Elanna's klingon belly. 

"Excuse me?"

Barely contained rage exploded in Torres' soul, compelling her to surge herself into Kathryn's face. "Tau. You're supposed to be her friend, yet you insult her. Why? Because her condition inconveniences you?"

Janeway refused to flinch. "Lieutenant, Tau is the greek letter for T, and how my officers and I relate to one another, is not your concern."

"And is it no one else's concern that you kidnapped Seven from the borg, dismantled her, lock her in isolation every time she does something you don't like? And is it no one's concern that every time her borg physiology re-exerts itself, you amputate it?"

"You're out of line Lieutenant-"

"Nam'uh hizhuk!" B'Elanna slapped the Admiral across the face with every ounce of her strength, sending the woman stumbling. For a moment, she regretted doing so, but the fury soon retook every millimetre of her being. She ripped her rank insignia and combadge off, throwing it at Janeway's feet. "Use my name," she screamed.

"B'Elanna," Kathryn warned as she wiped the blood off her lip, "you need to concentrate, you're not experiencing your own anger, you're feeling T'Len's."

"Everyone is talking about how the Nova needs a chief engineer, and everyone, *everyone*," Torres roared, "is talking about how you would never let Seven leave. You control and manipulate all of us! You don't just act like our captain, you're trying to force us into your own mould, or you collect us like living trophies, like you collected Seven! Like you collected me!"

"Calm yourself B'Elanna."

"Deny it Captain!"

"Doctor," Janeway's tone was dangerous and low. "Wake T'Len."

Quickly, Torres positioned herself between the Holo-Man and the vulcan. "Touch her, and it'll take Harry and Tom a week to unscramble your matrix."

"Think B'Elanna," Kathryn shouted, "you're speaking vulcan, and you've never cared about Seven, only that she wasn't in your engineering!"

"Pubau-tor!"

"Computer, authorization, Janeway, alpha-two, depressurize compartment."

Blinding rage consumed Torres' every thought, the need to destroy the Captain burned at her skin. She lunged, lashing out, striking the weak human in the jaw. The woman didn't resist, allowing herself to be struck and sent to the ground. B'Elanna grabbed a tricorder, turned on the Doctor before he could reach T'Len, and inverted his holographic fields, sending the energy back into the emitters. Her fixation returned, and she refocused on Janeway, advancing on her. The Captain was sitting passively, controlling her breathing, sucking in every millilitre of the quickly dwindling oxygen, but Torres didn't care how long either of them had to live. She picked Janeway up by the throat, pinched fingers on either side of her esophagus, pressing up into her skull cavity. Then, as suddenly as she had turned violent, Torres began to drop where she stood, T'Len struggling to remain upright behind her, a hand quickly leaving the klingon's shoulder to wrap around her waist.

Janeway moved to the nearest control panel to override her command, to re-pressurize sickbay. "What in the universe were you thinking?"

"I thought she would react as she did with Vorik," T'Len defended, her strength rapidly dwindling.

"Is that what you think of me," Kathryn asked in earnest.

The Vulcan lifted B'Elanna onto a biobed before crawling back on her own. "You will not reassign anyone to Nova. You are possessive."

Grabbing a tricorder, Janeway scanned T'Len. "You're going to end this."

"I can not. This is not a meld or telepathic affliction. B'Elanna and I are bonded."

"I can't lose two of my engineers like this Tau, and you damn well know why I call you that."

"I know. B'Elanna believes if she were gone, you would assign Seven of Nine to engineering."

"I'm not reassigning anyone." Kathryn moved to Torres. "Everyone is where they're needed." She trailed off. "Her neurotransmitter levels are normal..."

"She's not suffering from plak tow, nor am I. She felt she needed to protect me."

Janeway spun on the vulcan. "And the rest?"

"Old resentments given strength by the prospective of another." T'Len shifted back into her previous position, curled on her side.

"Who's? Yours? Hers? You're here because you wanted to be, because you didn't want T’Solark dictating your career anymore. And Torres is here because she was dragged here like the rest of us, and I made her chief engineer because she was the best person for the job."

"And Seven of Nine?"

"You can't let this go on." Janeway ignored the question.

"Why? Because she has a husband and child? Because it may disrupt your ship? Or because you do not trust the affections of a woman?"

Kathryn turned to leave.

"An observation Captain? A gift of spite from an old acquaintance while her emotional barriers are weakened? Lieutenant Tabatha Chang would have married you, and if you had done so, you would not have become fixated on Lieutenant Tighe after what the cardassians did to you. Had he not have been in your life, he would not have been available to be at the controls of your father's shuttle craft when it went down."

"Pure, ridiculous conjecture Tau."

"What is not conjecture Kathryn, is that eventually, Seven of Nine will carry on with her life, without you, if you so choose."

"There is nothing between Seven and myself."

T'Len cast a weak, uneven glare at Janeway. "Remember that, when Captain O'Connell steals her away. Unlike you, she is willing to do anything for the one she loves."

 

The dull ringing of silverware, softly spoken words, and the occasional low chuckle, floated about the captain's mess aboard the starship Nova. At the apex of it all, Captain Mary O'Connell, sitting as empress observing her court. They were all friends as well as colleagues, all began their careers under one of the others, all trusting and relying on one another, and all gathered to have one last meal together before joining up with the flotilla, one last bonding exercise as a lone group. The Captain had of course replicated the necessary base ingredients, but had made everyone their own special pasta dish entirely by hand. The journey to Voyager, had been long, and in many instances, Nova only made it through some obstacle because they were able to creep by unseen, in other's, they ran like hell. Through it all, Mary O'Connell had kept ship and crew together, both literally and figuratively.

"We still on for tomorrow Cap," Lieutenant William Davis, the Nova's helmsman asked, his mouth half full of food.

O'Connell nodded, humming. "We start at oh-seven hundred precisely. Anyone sleeps in, they're fired."

The room chortled mutely, except for first officer Commander Melissa Christoff, who sat stoically observing her food. "You're sure Janeway will interpret our actions as an exercise?"

"Positive Mel. Katie's always itching to prove how capable she is."

"We'll be revealing most of our own capabilities."

"That some of the point." Mary took a sip of wine. "The Admiral needs to be secure in our abilities, or we'll be playing caboose for months."

"And you're sure about Seven of Nine," Lieutenant Henry Grant asked timidly.

"Tell me you can handle engineering on your own..." Looking up at her provisional chief, O'Connell waited for him to speak up. He didn't.

When Mary had decided to plunge into the unknown depths of the galaxy in search of her childhood friend, she'd given her crew the option to leave the ship. A full quarter had, not that she really had a chief engineer to begin with. Nova was special, and seemingly in perpetual shakedown, so Mary filled the roll of both captain, as well as chief engineer. Something which was becoming exceedingly more difficult as their time in the delta quadrant wore on.

"I think Seven'll be the perfect choice," O'Connell continued, trying not to draw more attention to the man than she already had. It wasn't Grant's fault, he was a computer specialist, not a general engineer. "She's an ex-drone, has all the knowledge and memories of the collective locked up in her head. She's basically an oracle, the perfect chief engineer for a borg hunter like Nova."

"What if her presence triggers Nova's borg protocols," science officer Lieutenant-Commander Roxanne Perez asked.

"We can integrate her transporter trace into Nova's core," Grant reasoned, "make her think Seven's part of the ship."

Doctor Vretha, the only andorian aboard, spun her antenna passive-aggressively. "Just like an organ transplant."

"Shouldn't be too far from the truth." The Captain took the data padd a crewman offered her. "She's designed to continue operating even while partially assimilated. Nova should see Seven as simply an assimilated part of herself." As she read the padd's contents, her mood soured. Out of frustration, she threw the device at her plate.

The mess silenced quickly, Melissa the only person brave enough to question their Captain. "Bad news?"

"We've gotten a reply from command regarding our request." Mary hunched over to one side, her face turning to stone. "Lieutenant Samuel Joseph Walker, second engineer, USS Wanderer."

"I see."

"Born martian colony, Medusae Fossae."

"Anything else?"

O'Connell downed the rest of her wine. "His parents are Fundamentalists."

"Aren't you a Fundi Cap," Lieutenant Davis asked.

She gave the man a hard, piercing glare. "I was born in a Traditionalist community, William... Traditionalists believe, amongst other ridiculous things, that an over reliance on technology weakens the human spirit, and that physical labourer builds character. Fundamentalists have ideologies and a barely contained restraint to spread them by any means necessary. They're the people who blame non-humans for their every single problem."

"Do you think he'll be a problem," Christoff pulled the conversation back on track.

"No, Dartt wouldn't have let him anywhere near his ship if he was a phobic preacher. But he's not qualified, and his background tells me he's not exactly an achiever."

"Our next move Captain?"

"I don't goddamn know Mel." Mary stared into one of the many candles on the table, her heart beginning to sink. "Maybe I made a mistake coming out here. It's not like Katie's ever been remotely accommodating."

Perez grabbed another loaf of garlic bread. "Is T'Len still out?"

"She'd be useless ten days every two months. She's fine for maintenance, overhauls, but in an emergency, there's a chance we'd be getting Mister Hyde."

"I don't get it ma'am, if the borg woman's not doing anything particularly useful on Voyager, or even necessary for the ship, why is Admiral Janeway refusing to let her be reassigned?"

"She's a trophy," Tactical Officer Lieutenant-Commander Leopold Wagner gruffed from around a mouthful of pasta, speaking for the first time during the meal.

"No Mister Wagner," O'Connell sighed, "she's not. She's a hope."

"A hope for what Captain," Roxanne questioned, genuine confusion ghosting her voice.

Mary stood, grabbing a bottle of wine as she moved. "It doesn't matter. Please, stay. I'll take my miserable self elsewhere."

Vretha caught the woman's arm before she could leave. "Thank you Mary, this really is delicious."

"Momma always said, just because you got a replicator, doesn't mean you gotta let it do all the work."

O'Connell patted the andorian's hand, gave a few more goodnights; then slipped out the door. Sometimes, it didn't matter how much you knew someone, how much history you had together, or even what else was going on in the universe, sometimes, people just acted in unreasonable, selfish ways.


	5. Half a Quartet

In the bottom of a storage container, tucked away for years if not decades, had sat the picture now tenderly clasped in Kathryn Janeway's hand. The device dedicated to displaying images itself, housed only that single photo, and was as old as the scene it displayed: Kathryn, standing slightly left of centre, arms crossed under her chest, staring indulgently into the imager; T'Len, slightly further left and behind, hands held passively at her back, face unreadable; Mary centre right, as much the subject of the image as Janeway, arm carelessly slung over Melissa's shoulders, smiling pompously, free arm struck in the stereotypical bodybuilder pose; Furthest right, Christoff, leaning on O'Connell for support, laughing freely, amused by the group's antics and relieved that their ordeal was finally over. They were all wearing their double-breasted red uniform jackets, flame coloured cadet strap over their shoulders with fourth class insignia pinned to them, and all looked exhausted. Less than an hour prior, they'd participated in the most insane, building out of control, washout test in academy history.

It'd begun like most Borocco-Kai tests, on the bridge of the fictitious miranda-class starship Chippewa, but instead of being beamed over to a freighter to fight Orion pirates, the four found themselves surrounded by chaos and explosions the moment the simulation solidified. They'd tried to stave the attack, tried to save the ship, and failed nearly instantly; the fake captain Tallerday being crushed in a gorily spectacular fashion, Kathryn's knee being sliced open in the process, something which wasn't supposed to occur during these simulations. Fleeing to an escape pod became their only avenue for survival, but there, the randomness continued, Christoff's cerebral compensator seemingly began to fail. O'Connell, angered by the inconsistencies and apparent disregard for their health, ordered them all to force the pod's door opened to space, thereby ending the test.

For a few minutes, they'd believed that was exactly what they'd accomplished; Janeway's injury miraculously healed, and Melissa's implant suddenly became alright. The instructor informed them that because of their talents, they were assumed to pass, so the academy tapped their parents as advisers to devise a much harder simulation. But Mary continued to be suspicious, and badgered T'Len to verify their reality by trying to meld with someone. The vulcan accosted the first of her own species she came across, whom, to her extreme discomfort, turned out to be real. Despite this however, Kathryn was becoming skeptical; her academy roommate Anastasia couldn't answer intentionally cryptic questions regarding their relationship, and the corridors were devoid of vulcans, accept for the male T'Len confronted, who had seemingly disappeared. Indignation pushed to the surface by that realization, T'Len grabbed a random human, finding him to be a hologram.

O'Connell's temper had once again flared, but also began to feel despondent. She'd shouted at whomever was on the other side of the simulator's unseen walls, to get on with it, which they did, by adding the cetacean probe that nearly destroyed earth almost a century before. But as random as everything else had been so far, the four were given nothing to do, just sit for hours watching the sky fill with darkening clouds, and stare as starships fell out of orbit. Over the course of six hours, the temperature plummeted, and T'Len began presenting symptoms of pon farr, an orchestrated complication devise by the vulcan's aunt, and Starfleet rear admiral, T’Solark, whom also denied them the medication to control it. But the four had persevered, T'Len confided in them, and in turn, they helped her remain calm.

Then like a bad holonovel that just wouldn't end, the instructors beamed an additional dozen first year cadets in with them, locking them in the scene with nothing to do but resist the urge to fight amongst themselves. Their 'talents', their very dispositions which made the standard version of this test useless on the four, began to twist inward: Mary became resigned, dispassionately relating to the newcomers what the Academy was doing to them, causing them agitation; T'Len's closer to the surface emotions, spilled over, causing her to swing wildly from withdrawn to aggressive; Melissa's natural need to problem solve, became an uncontrollable stream of 'what ifs'; And Kathryn herself, slowly mutated into a darker version of her mother, attempting to control the other students, spitting quiet venom at whomever resisted.

Eventually, and for the very reason the four and the rest were all thrown into the simulator, they adapted, they became used to the conditions of their sanctioned torment. So the Academy, along with the four's parents, changed the simulation to a real life destroyed starbase so far gone, Starfleet had abandoned it, and ordered them to conduct repairs. Water modified to taste like dirt, but otherwise healthy, and the most disgusting emergency rations known to the Federation, were beamed in for them to consume. They were going out of their way to break them, to break the entirety of the top rated first year students, doing everything they could short of violating the law, to get the cadets to do something stupid, or force them to quit. Two had, unable to handle the stress, and were beamed out as soon as they accepted failure. The rest, argued, shouted, made snide remarks, and generally didn't stray very far from cranky.

Janeway caressed a thumb across the faces in the image. The test had abruptly ended on the fifth day of their ordeal, the Academy fearing they would kill T'Len if they took it any further, despite T'Solark assuring them that because of the younger vulcan's abnormal genes, she was in no danger of death. And T'Solark *wanted* it to continue, she wanted to destroy T'Len. But when mother Janeway learned of the young vulcan, and her family's seeming devotion to subjugate and bar her from a Starfleet career? Gretchen told her daughter after the ordeal, she'd felt her avenging angel spread her wings, and much like Kathryn inside the simulation, on the outside, the elder Janeway had begun playing the parents and administration, conducting them as she would an orchestra, targeting their weaknesses just as she had the four friends, encouraging all involved, to let T'Solark cram her foot ever deeper down her own throat.

That day, after the ordeal, Gretchen took the photo now being cherished, she christened the four friends, the quartet... and what a quartet they'd been! They'd each wanted desperately to get away from their respective cultures, were unprepared for the universe at large, were far too intelligent and driven for their own good... and each had been a mess in their own way. Kathryn herself had been socially inept, utterly unable to relate to people on a personal level for any length of time, and was a disaster waiting to happen when it came to romance. O'Connell, had no concept of proportionality, if she didn't obliterate the competition or make a test seem trivially easy, she felt she'd failed. Together, most cadets had called them, 'the farm girls', 'the cow girls', or anything else remotely Traditionalist. Then when the rest of the Academy discovered that Mary's attraction to starships, wasn't just aspirational...

Sadness began creeping into Janeway's chest. Unlike the other half of their quartet, she and O'Connell had come from loving homes and a stable community. Their rebellion was against the 'unspeakable' hardship of not having a replicator, and having to help out on the farms... T'Len had been institutionalized in a mental hospital just before puberty, and Melissa had been born with literally half a brain. Even now, T'Len was vocal regarding her partial rejection of Surak's teachings, instead calling herself a student of Spock, often repeating his words, 'logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end of it'. She occasionally smiled, openly admitted to her emotions, and criticized her people. But what got her committed to a shi'shad, was her dedicated refusal, until today apparently, to bond, having thrown herself off a cliff to avoid her betrothal. Poor Melissa had been implanted with a computer processor to act as the other half of her cerebellum, and growing up, teachers and authority figures becried her an augment, and subjected her to what was tantamount to torture, by continually retarding her cerebral compensator to bring her down to a 'normal human' level. She'd told the others, that it had been like living with a constant fever.

The more Kathryn thought about herself and her friends, the more nervous she became over Mary's imminent arrival. How would they interact? What would their power dynamic be? O'Connell respected the uniform, the rank, and she had no difficulty believing that her friend would follow orders under normal conditions. But the Delta Quadrant was far from normal. If they disagreed, Mary would not tolerate being shut down forever, she'd slowly escalate from waiting until she could say her piece in private, to pulling Kathryn into one of their ready rooms, to arguing in front of others, to downright screaming over an open comm for all to hear. Ultimate control over Mary O'Connell, could only come from Janeway commandeering her vessel, and throwing her friend into the brig. Christoff, would follow her captain's lead, no matter what form in might take.

For a millisecond, when she'd planned out that eventuality the moment before, it made absolute sense, a last resort strategy that if it came down to it, she'd execute. Then she thought about Nova firing on Voyager, which was a completely realistic possibility, because they both were capable of pushing something that far. O'Connell's crew wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't think twice about blowing Voyager's nacelles off... but would Janeway's own crew? The only situation she could think where things would get that out of hand, was if Mary outright refused to follow an order, refused to accept disciplinary action; then refused to relinquish command... But Kathryn couldn't think of what that order would reasonably be, yet, she felt that it could definitely happen.

Her thought shifted to a time with Seven, when a member of species 8472 got aboard the ship. Seven had outright refused to help contain it, which she had every legal and ethical right to do... but Kathryn kept pushing until the ex-borg gave Janeway a reason, any reason at all, to confine her. Then the situation spiralled further out of control. In the end, Seven proverbially told Kathryn to go to hell, claiming that Janeway was frightened by her individuality. It wasn't fear however, it was anger, near rage, that Seven of Nine would not do something that to Janeway, was inarguably the right thing to do... even if it destroyed the ship. At the time, in her mind, Kathryn had played out the worst case scenario: struggling with Seven, having the computer transport her into a holding cell, failing that, phasering her, having her physically restrained... using drugs or technology to deprogram what she thought were abhorrent moralities implanted by the borg... In short, neurologically change who Seven was, because she'd disobeyed Kathryn's orders.

The acknowledgement that Seven had every legal and ethical right to refuse to help, and the admonishment of herself she felt because of it, would never have occurred if not for her mother reading Kathryn's logs and speaking to the ex-borg's aunt, and the letter which resulted when regular contact was established. The older woman dedicated almost the entirety of the letter spelling out exactly why what she did to Seven was wrong, citing law and regulation and good Starfleet conduct, all the while repeating, in every way imaginable, how disappointed she was in her daughter's behaviour. Reading it, mentally transported Kathryn back to a time when she was a child, and being scolded for lashing out at her sister for something entirely trivial.

Then Gretchen twisted the proverbial knife in her daughter's stomach. She pointed out, that at best, Seven was a medical patient, being detained for her own safety, receiving treatment for horrific neurological and physical injuries suffered... and that Kathryn, had attempted to force the young woman back into the roll of drone, mindlessly obeying a person who'd only six months before, upended her world and tore her from everything she'd ever known, and who, amputated parts of her body she'd been taught were necessary for her survival. The elder Janeway, a retired Starfleet Commander herself, informed Kathryn with no ambiguity, that forcing the obligation of saving the ship... because there was no chance of protecting it against the prey hungry hirogen and a frighten and injured fluidic alien without Seven's cooperation, and that without it, Kathryn would've been forced to give up the individual to the hirogen to save themselves... onto Seven, a civilian with no ties or responsibility to Starfleet, was the essence of violating the Prime Directive.

Janeway tucked the picture back into the storage container, likely to once again spend years if not decades forgotten, and stared into her box of things, her mind drifting between yesterday and tomorrow. Chakotay, T'Len, Dartt, Givens, Spelor, and the rest of the combined crews, were manageable, controllable... she felt little need to justify herself to them, and had no fear that a confrontation with any of them, would result in their mutual destruction. But Mary O'Connell wasn't a peer, or even a friend, she wasn't just part of the quartet, she was family. They'd been born a few months apart, were grouped together as toddlers when adults had work to do, went to the same schools, most of the same classes, when old enough to do chores, they argued who got to do what, like drive the tractor... It was finally hitting her what that meant for her command... someone who knew as much about Kathryn as Gretchen, and could push her buttons as easily as Phoebe, was about to join the flotilla.

 

Standing at her console in Voyager's cargo bay two, Seven of Nine examined the chronometer in the lower right corner of her screen. Oh-two hundred hours. Her 'day' typically began whenever she completed her mandated regeneration cycle. She once again pondered on the fact, that there was no need for her to regenerate each and every day, but the Captain and the Doctor's preoccupation with Seven regaining her humanity, gave her little choice. They had decreed that either she slept in a bed, or regenerate in her alcove. She'd chose the latter. And as was typical for the two other individuals, they harangued her for asserting her individuality in a manor not consistent with their desires.

Partially arbitrarily, the Doctor had chosen a cycle of two hours daily. She qualified this autocratic demand on her time, partial, because there was one legitimate factor moderating the length she could regenerate. Under normal operating conditions, a cycle in excess of two hours, would cause her physical harm. One hour daily of regeneration would still be excessive, but closer to equilibrium. This, she assumed, was why they wished her to sleep, because she could do so for up to six hours without suffering negative effects.

It had been well documented throughout history, that some were, as they called it, workaholics. Why was she not permitted to make choices similar to those humans? What was their justification for refusing her adoption of such a 'lifestyle'? She much preferred working to socializing, analyzing to resting, and research to sleeping, which, based on such research, was not abnormal for some humans. Yet, she was denied this option. Phoebe Janeway had indicated in numerous correspondence, that the Captain was legally prohibited from forcing her will upon the Borg, and that she 'should not let Katie push her around' in such ways.

Despite Seven's own inquiries confirming the youngest Janeway's assertions, and the moderate anger she experienced as a result of the stagnation of her individuality, the Borg felt unable to directly confront the Captain. But she did not know why. A solution was required, a means to assert herself, to do as she willed, without having to openly defy Janeway. She was becoming resentful toward the Captain, which was equally unacceptable. What to do however, remained elusive, and caused Seven to feel as powerless as she had when her individuality was first returned.

"Hi mommy."

Seven turned an examining eye on her daughter. "Yes Helen?"

"Mezoti informed me that I should irritate you."

"Did she?" The Borg's enhanced brow lifted. "Why do you believe she would give you such instruction?"

Helen lifted her shoulders as a sign of doubt, but her uncontrollable grin spoke volumes.

"Perhaps because you were causing Mezoti irritation?"

"No?"

Seven squatted low, bringing herself even to the child's gaze. "Perhaps you were disturbing her?"

Rotating her entire body from side to side, Helen hummed in the negative.

"I see." The Borg gently removed her child's finger from her mouth, and clasped both within her own. "Then you believe Mezoti is being unreasonable."

Bright eyed, Helen nodded deeply.

"I should punish her severely."

Joy drained from the girl's features. She shook her head, "no."

"What then do you believe I should do?"

"Make her play with me?"

"Would it not be equally reasonable for me to make you leave Mezoti alone?"

"No?"

A determined, serious expression overtook the Borg. "You know that to be false. It is reasonable, but it is not what you desire."

"But I'm bored mommy," Helen almost cried.

"Perhaps, if you ask nicely, Mezoti will take you to the holodeck where you can play, and she can do as she wishes."

"Okay!" The girl took off at a trotting sprint.

"Helen," Seven spoke firmly; then waited for the child's attention to return. "This is a suggestion, not a directive. You will not attempt to force your sister into taking you to the holodeck."

"Okay mommy!"

"And do not attempt to irritate her into," the Borg allowed her words to fade, the child was already through the door.

Parenting was not difficult, what was however, was avoiding excessive conflict and discontent. Seven recalled that prior to Azan and Rebi being returned to their civilization... many, many years ago... she had attempted a far different approach than her current. It failed. Since that time, she had adapted and discarded many techniques, modified her own behaviour, and attempted to elicit the desired responses through various means. The Borg believed she was increasing her success rate, however, variables changed constantly, and sometimes, she struggled to maintain her goals for the children. But, as of yet, she had not failed in her duty as their adoptive mother.

"Seven of Nine, you have an incoming secure communication from the Nova."

The Borg regarded her console evenly. "Acknowledged. I will accept it here."

"Omega authorization required."

Tilting her head, the Borg's suspicion increased. "Why does this communique require clearance?"

"The communication is encrypted."

She knew no one from the Nova, and knew no reason why they would wish to contact her, or why they would do so directly... and secretly. But curiosity overrode mistrust. "Seven of Nine, Omega-Phi-Nine-Three."

An odd silhouette of the Milky Way Galaxy, with what she assumed was meant to be a stylized supernova in the centre, appeared on the screen. A moment later, the image dissolved into the face of Captain O'Connell, a charming, and surprisingly familiar, half grin tugging at her lips.

"Sorry to contact you like this Seven, but if Admiral Janeway knew I was doing so at all," the woman paused. "Well, she'd probably tell our mothers." 

"Indeed." The Borg's skepticism deepened.

"Let me cut to the point, I know you appreciate directness, and dislike pretext. We want you as the chief engineer for Nova."

"Should such requests not be made through the Captain?"

"They should." The rakish smile disappeared from O'Connell's features. "And we did. We requested you, but Katie sent back, through Starfleet of course, Lieutenant Samuel Joseph Walker, second engineer, USS Wanderer."

Seven's interest perked. "Lieutenant Walker is not an acceptable candidate."

"You're telling me. It was also a very... 'odd' choice. But," Mary pointed dramatically into the air, "let me guess, you had no idea we were even asking for you."

"Captain Janeway has not discussed such an opportunity with me."

"Our second choice was Torres if the Admiral wanted to keep you, and T'Len if she decided to be dead set against being reasonable."

"Lieutenants Torres and T'Len have bonded."

Captain O'Connell stared blankly for a moment. "New information. Didn't know that. It's irrelevant however." She shrugged. "What's important, is if you think there's any logic to this... happenstance."

"I do not." Seven's posture stiffened. "And I believe transferring Lieutenant Torres would be irrational."

"Yes, yes it would be." Nova's Captain tapped her lips with steepled fingers. "Why do you think that is?"

"I enjoy leading questions less than pretext."

"Fine." The woman's smirk returned. "To put it simply, I believe Admiral Janeway wants to possess you. She *might* be in love with you, but her feelings matter very little, because she'll never act on them. So she does the only thing her psyche will allow, she keeps you close and away from others."

The Borg's eyes drifted to the deck.

"On Nova, you'd be queen of engineering. I might try to micromanage you from time to time, but it'll be your post, and I'm sure you'll remind me of that fact whenever I get on your nerves. And quite frankly, Nova was built for you."

"That is factitious."

"No, no it's not. I have no doubt you're familiar with the original concept for the Nova-class, but that other ships of her class like the Equinox, don't exactly express the ideal. Nova however, does, she's a purpose built borg hunter. Who or what else than a freed borg would be better at her heart? You Seven, can keep her running and fighting against the ceaseless advances of the collective. You could help her, help you, protect yours and others individuality."

Seven's expression remained cold. "You are attempting to manipulate me."

"I am." O'Connell's charm intensified. "But is that really a deal breaker? In my solution, everyone wins. Torres and T'Len get to stay together, and if Katie's desires are unwelcome-"

"They are not unwelcome," the Borg asserted a little more strenuously than she'd intended.

"If they're unwelcome," Mary continued, "then it'll give you space. But, if they're returned? Well, there's nothing like taking something away from a human, to force them to acknowledge how much they wanted it to begin with."

Seven's gaze became unfocused. "My children?"

"Your alcoves can be installed with ease, you can have as little or as much privacy as you want, and if you and they choose, your offspring can have as much or as little meaningful work aboard ship as you wish. We'll still be in the flotilla, so your friendship with Naomi Wildman won't be severely affected; likewise, Helen and Miral's friendship won't diminish."

"It is probable that Captain Janeway will feel betrayed by this action."

"Probably," O'Connell confirmed, "but you can shift the blame on me, I don't really mind. Katie and I have been friends before either of us could walk, and we've been throwing sticks and stones at one another for about as long."

Seven finally met the other Captain's eyes, her cold borg demeanour fully in place. "I will have to consider this."

"Take your time." Mary beamed. "In about five or so hours, Nova will drop off sensors, and we'll begin hunting the fleet. I want you to try and find us."

"You are not utilizing a cloaking device."

"I know. But don't worry, Katie'll make it harder. Nova out."

Staring at the blank screen, perplexed and contemplative, Seven considered the conversation. One of the Captain's closest friends, all but confirmed the other woman's feelings toward her, which the Borg had already suspected. A physical relationship was not something she desired, though entering into one was not a repellent thought, Seven craved a deeper closeness with Captain Janeway. Perhaps this was the solution she was looking for? Independence and separation leading to greater inter-connectivity and bonding. Love was not a concept she'd fully assimilated yet, she understood her own love for her adoptive children, and their love for her, she even understood the love of friendship she felt for other members of the crew, but Kathryn was more. Could someone be more than a friend, but not a sexual companion? The physical aspects a lover would no doubt require, were something Seven had yet to even consider. But she did want their relationship to move forward, and did not wish for her resentment to grow.

**Author's Note:**

> One, two, tree, four, wrote this story to drop some'more... Gotta love Coolio!
> 
> So, still a little rough, and WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY different style than the other chapters. What can I say, at the moment I'm watching less television, and reading way more. I can't really strike a balance, either I'm all dialogue, or I'm massively introspective... Bleh.
> 
> Anyway, because could it be a note from me if I didn't say that word, I'm getting close to reintegrating the chapters from the previous iteration, and... other stuff. I'm actually not feeling very thoughtful at the moment, and I'm kinda worrying that black mould might be growing somewhere in my apartment again... life is a complicated mess... But yeah, this chapter is a lot different from the Torres/T'Len intro arch, so I might rewrite that part to improve fluidity.
> 
> OH! I forgot to mention this before, since there's no description of Mary O'Connell in Mosaic, I've been imagining her as looking like Angela Bower from Who's The Boss. I also realize I'm not making something about her very clear, which will be made more so in later chapters, O'Connell is an objectophile, she's sexually attracted to starships, and is in love with the Nova, and it's what T'Len was referring to when she said O'Connell would do anything for her loved one.
> 
> Anyways, I hope this chapter isn't coming off as too info dumpy, I really did try hard to make it feel like Janeway's thoughts flowing from one anxiety to another in an organic way... I rewrote it like four times, and I do have most of the Borocco-Kai test written out as a scene, but it's kinda boring, and about ten times longer then Janeway just reminiscing about it.
> 
> I will, sooner or later, be writing more for Yesterday's The Future, Tomorrow's The Past, and I'm still in the process of recovering my other stories. Might take a while. And I've also thought about reworking Reliance, but I'm not sure I want to stick with the 'they crash in the middle of civilized society', or, they're stuck in the great wilderness... I have outlines for both, the difference is that in the wilderness one, Seven shows herself to be kick ass with primitive technology, and in the other, Janeway learns flexibility... and loves core jumping, which is jumping threw the centre of a planetoid; then letting the gravity seesaw you in the middle. Choices, choices.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and your kudos!


End file.
